Draco Malfoy and the Denial of Reality
by The Breeze
Summary: Draco Malfoy. Hero and Villain. Auror and Death Eater. Friend and Enemy of Harry. Husband of Ginny. Servant of Voldemort; and the last hope of humanity. How did this come to pass?
1. Death, Pure and Simple

Once upon a time, there was a rabid D/G fangirl who stated, more or less, "If Draco turns out to be truly, totally evil in canon, I will not accept it. In fact, I already have my denial fic planned."  
That simple line has inspired this, my first full-length true Draco/Ginny story.  
  
**Draco Malfoy and the Denial of Reality**  
  
If Draco Malfoy had been an ordinary man, the rubble underneath his feet would have make a crunching sound as he walked out of the bunker where he had just killed Harry Potter.  
  
Draco Malfoy was not ordinary, however. His boots were endowed with a Silencing Charm, so as to ensure stealth when he approached.  
  
Sometimes, Apparition made just too much noise - not that it was really possible for anyone to Apparate anymore.  
  
Once, Draco Malfoy had been a leader. He had an ability to inspire men and women to follow him. He was quite good at it. He still was a leader, in a way, even though he didn't want to admit it  
  
But, as Draco looked at the moon, and felt the cooling blood of Harry Potter on his hands, he knew that he was first and foremost a killer.  
  
Alone.  
  
Silent.  
  
It wouldn't do to have his prey hear his footsteps.  
  
Of course, Harry was different. There had been no need to hide from him.  
  
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Man Who Ended The Evil. Voldemort was long dead, but Harry had fallen a bit short of his informal title. Evil was very much alive and doing quite well.  
  
Draco sighed, and wondered how he had come to this.  
  
The past two years had been horrifying beyond comprehension.  
  
In a way, killing Hermione Weasley had been easier. At the end, she had been driven insane, consumed by madness. She had run a valiant and noble race, but in the end the horror was too much for her.  
  
Draco had suspected that he was writing the epitaph for humanity when he had killed Hermione. Everything afterwards had just been a rote exercise in survival, an emotionless, mechanical response of a spasming animal that didn't quite realize it was already dead.  
  
The "animal" was the human race.  
  
Now, Potter was dead. After all the suffering, Draco was the only one who was left. He knew, all too well, what that meant.  
  
Harry had known, too. The fear in his eyes as he watched Draco bury the blade in his heart was touched with a tinge of pity; as Harry had involuntarily pulled at the enchanted handcuffs that bound him to the wall, Draco had wished that it was himself who was suffering the sweet release of death, and not Harry Potter.  
  
For now, with the death of Harry Potter, it fell to Draco to lead.  
  
Draco thought back to how the world had come to this. Despite everything, a twisted smile formed on his face. A Slytherin was supposed to be ambitious, but Draco now quite literally ruled the world - or rather, that small bit of the world that was still sane.  
  
It had been three years since the death of Voldemort. Two years since the birth of the Rectification. A year and half since Draco's wife had been slaughtered, his children stolen and killed.  
  
A year since Draco had watched Harry as he wept over the corpse of Luna Lovegood Potter.  
  
Six months since Draco had been forced to kill Hermione, after she had ripped her husband's throat out with her teeth and then turned to smile at Draco. Every night, Draco prayed that the fleeting light of sanity and regret in her eyes had been an illusion that Draco had imagined. He didn't want to think that the creature that had once been Hermione Weasley still had enough mind left to realize that she had killed her husband.  
  
It wasn't supposed to be this way.  
  
The death of Voldemort had sent the Wizarding World into an orgy of celebration. Harry Potter was Elvis, Merlin and the Messiah all rolled up into one.  
  
Ron and Hermione had been a bit embarrassed by all the attention, but Draco had been more than happy to bask in some of the reflected glory from the Man Who Killed Voldemort. Perhaps he could funnel some of that public admiration into a political career; after all, Draco hadn't been in Slytherin just because he looked good in green.  
  
Draco had harbored dreams of being Minister of Magic eventually - he didn't have to worry about competition from his closest friend Harry Potter, as the Wizarding Public was busy trying to anoint him as king, much to his horror. Strangely, Luna had handled the fame better than Harry; she had actually been pleased when a large group of teenage witches had announced that they had formed some sort of worshipful cult around her. She thought it was "cute."  
  
Draco smiled as he recalled teasing Harry that his wife would make a good cult leader. Harry's stuttering was replaced by choking when Luna had vaguely asked Draco if he thought she could get her "cult" to sacrifice young virgins to her husband.  
  
It had taken a long time for Draco to get used to Luna's sense of humor. Thinking about her made him smile even more, until he remembered that he had just killed her husband, whom she had died to save.  
  
Draco spoke to the empty night sky.  
  
"She bought you a year, Harry, I hope it proved worth it, because I know you would rather have died with her."  
  
A voice behind him startled Draco.  
  
"How could it have been worth it? I would rather have died a year ago myself."  
  
Draco felt his heart return to normal as he spun around and recognized the man behind him.  
  
"Christ, Sergeant, you scared the hell out of me."  
  
"Better me than what's out here, sir, we better get back under cover."  
  
"Quite right you are. I just. . ." Draco's voice trailed off. He didn't know what to say. He had a strange sense of guilt, for the Sergeant should not have been out here - it was even more dangerous for Muggles outdoors than it was for wizards.  
  
_Funny. I just drove a knife through my best friend's heart but I feel guilty because I'm putting a Muggle at risk by being outdoors._  
  
The Sergeant spoke again.  
  
"It's nice out. Can't remember how long it's been since we've been in there."  
  
"Almost two months."  
  
Two months since Harry had been bitten.  
  
The Rectification had made itself known at the first anniversary of Voldemort's death. They had attacked the celebration that had been held outside London, in a field that had been warded against Muggle eyes but that had not been terribly secure against magical attacks.  
  
After all, almost all of the Death Eaters were dead or in prison.  
  
No one expected a group of very talented, very insane wizards to strike out at the world, determined to kill every pureblood they could get their hands on.  
  
The Rectification had started with one man. One solitary man, whose identity was still unknown, even as he was undoubtedly roasting in the fires of hell.  
  
A little was known of him.  
  
He was Muggleborn.  
  
He had been active in the fight against Voldemort, although he wasn't a member of the Order.  
  
He was brilliant, on a par with Hermione Weasley - maybe even smarter.  
  
Draco couldn't help wondering what his other dead friend would have thought of that.  
  
_Ron, if you're watching me, please don't strike me down for thinking the blasphemy that there may have been someone even smarter than your wife._  
  
The leader of the Rectification was also totally barking mad.  
  
And now, his peculiar madness had spread to the entire world.  
  
"Begging your pardon, sir, but things are in motion."  
  
Draco closed his eyes. The Sergeant was a good man. He had a name, Draco knew, but ever since they had been thrown together, he was and would always simply be the Sergeant.  
  
The Sergeant had close-cropped hair, and haunted eyes. Of course, everyone had haunted eyes these days. The Sergeant had been an American, back in the days when there had been a nation called the United States of America.  
  
Fully a quarter of Potter's - and now Draco's - little force were United States Marines, including the Sergeant. A smattering of Belgian, French and German military made up another quarter. The other half were former British troops - mostly members of the SAS, the Special Air Service. Although their formal name made them sound like an express delivery company, they were actually some of the most deadly commandos in the world.  
  
Draco also had one elderly witch under his command. She had one eye and one arm, but she also had a fierce loyalty that had probably been why she had been sorted into Hufflepuff a century and a half previously. Agnes Nelson may not have been the most powerful witch Draco had seen, but she could do magic, and that was what counted.  
  
Draco took a breath, and opened his eyes.  
  
_So it begins._  
  
"Very well, Sergeant. Is there any word from the Russians?"  
  
"Yes sir. They'll try."  
  
"That's it? They'll TRY?"  
  
"That's the whole message."  
  
Draco gave a bitter laugh.  
  
"Guess we don't have much of a choice, do we?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"Two hours. The Chinese will launch in an hour and a half. The _Alabama_ and _Nevada_ are closer; they will launch in an hour and forty minutes. The _Rhode Island_ is waiting in reserve, as you ordered."  
  
"We may need the _Rhode Island_ if the Russians don't show up."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Draco started walking back into the bunker.  
  
"I want to bury Harry."  
  
"Yes, sir. We've dug a grave, and the men are assembled."  
  
Draco thought back  
  
A half hour ago, he had killed Harry._  
  
"Draco? I feel. . .normal. It's time, isn't it?"  
  
A single tear came out of Harry's eye.  
  
"Yes. I've cast the spell. We have fifteen minutes."  
  
"Fifteen minutes. I. . .I don't trust myself. I don't want to die insane. Do it in fourteen."  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
Harry gave a hoarse chuckle, "What's one more minute of life, right?"  
  
Harry's voice dropped lower.  
  
"I'm so scared, Draco. I. . .I don't want to die. It's different when you talk about it abstractly, but looking at you holding that stopwatch. It's too real."  
  
Draco couldn't look in Harry's eyes.  
  
"I never, ever thanked you Harry."  
  
Harry looked puzzled.  
  
"What for? Letting you steal Ginny from me?"  
  
Draco couldn't help but laugh. It was a long-standing joke between him and Harry that Draco had somehow "taken" Ginny Weasley from Harry. Although they had never been involved, Harry and Ginny had been inseparable friends during their later years at Hogwarts.  
  
"That. Everything. Grimmauld Place. . .Cannes. All I am, all that I did. . .I owe to you."  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy, you're getting mushy."  
  
"Malfoys, as a rule, do not get "mushy". I am merely attempting to express proper appreciation to a fellow wizard who has rendered me a service, despite him being an utter idiot." Draco couldn't keep the humor out of his voice.  
  
"Idiot, eh? Show some respect for the soon-to-be-dead."  
  
That was too much. Harry was trying to be brave, and was masking his fear with humor, but considering that Draco had eight minutes left before he had to kill his best friend, Harry's comment just wasn't very funny.  
  
Harry saw the hurt on Draco's face.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Draco. How long has it been since I've been in my right mind enough to have a conversation? Things are a bit fuzzy."  
  
It was Draco's turn to taunt Harry. "Actually, Potter, I never knew you before you came to Hogwarts, so I couldn't answer that question."  
  
Harry looked puzzled for a minute and then laughed.  
  
"Seriously, Draco."  
  
"I don't know. Off and on, I'd say it's been a week since you were consistent in your speech. You've still been able to help with the planning, though."  
  
Harry nodded. "Thank God. You're going to do it, then?"  
  
Draco looked Harry in the eye.  
  
"You know I have no choice. I will do it. And I will succeed."  
  
"I know. . .I know you can't release my hands. But. . .can you take my hand, Malfoy? If this works. . . ."  
  
Draco reached out and gripped Harry's left hand just above the manacle that was chained to the wall.  
  
"I don't know what will happen. I don't know what the other Harry and the other Draco will be like."  
  
Draco's eyes grew cold. "I do. The other Harry will be a hero, and I will be one of the greatest villains of the age, before I die in some spectacular blaze of glory or get sent to Azkaban. Malfoy loses again."  
  
Tears started to roll down Harry's cheeks. Despite the tears, his voice was firm. "The other Harry will have a gaping hole in his life, because he will never had the privilege and honor of being friends with Draco Malfoy. And it is horrifying to me that I will not even know what I'm missing."  
  
"I will do it, Harry. For you. For Ginny. For Luna. For Ron. For Hermione. For my children, that will never be born. For the world. And for me, for the man that I was and should have been. I can do nothing else. I must do this, and I will succeed."  
  
"Winston, Emily and Arthur. I don't know what to say, Draco."  
  
Draco's voice was almost totally flat, but there was an undercurrent of hope.  
  
"I've spoke to the Priest before we lost him. He said. . .he didn't really know, he's was just guessing, but this has never happened before. But he said one thing, he said that the soul is indestructible, immortal, and beyond physics and time. He says that somehow, someway, the essence of my children will survive, and that I will be with them again despite what I have to do."  
  
Harry nodded. "Funny how watching the end of the world can make even the most hardened wizard religious at the end."  
  
Draco's voice was bitter. "The Priest says that God does not forsake his children. I look around the world we have left and really have to wonder."  
  
"We did it to ourselves, Draco. And it's up to you to redeem us and give us another chance."  
  
"Don't remind me, Potter. I've got enough to worry about."  
  
"Sod off, Malfoy." Harry smiled as he delivered the age-old insult, for what he knew was the final time.  
  
Draco looked at his watch.  
  
"Harry. . ."  
  
"I know. It's time. Use the knife. Wait. Maybe. . .you can leave a note or something. So that someone knows what you've done."  
  
Draco nodded. "Done. I've prepared it all, I have letters to my mother, and to Ginny, and even to you and Ron and Hermione. And Luna."  
  
"Ok. I hope you were convincing."  
  
"You all will fall under the Malfoy charm. You won't be able to help yourselves. My brilliant writing will render your other self speechless."  
  
"We're out of time, Draco. Use the knife. Not Avada."  
  
Draco choked. "I would not use Avada on you. Not after your parents died by-"  
  
"No, no, I mean it seems that every time someone uses on Avada on me it seems to bite them on the ass, I still don't fully understand what my mother did as a baby and I don't want to take the chance that I've still got some lingering protection. Just wouldn't do to have you AK me and kill yourself instead."  
  
Draco's eyes widened. "Ah. Yes. Good point."  
  
"Hurry up, Draco, I want to die in my right mind."  
  
Draco said nothing. He reached into his robes, and pulled out a small locket that was closed around a thatch of dirty-blond hair. He put the locket in Harry's other hand - the hand he wasn't holding.  
  
Harry twisted his arm to look at the locket. He gave Draco a weak smile.  
  
"You kept it safe. Thank you."  
  
Slate grey eyes locked with emerald eyes. For the last time, Draco Malfoy spoke to Harry Potter.  
  
"Goodbye, my friend. You will live again."  
  
Harry nodded - a nod of permission, maybe even a plea -, and then his eyes widened as Draco drove the blade into his chest, expertly slipping it in between his ribs. A single smooth slicing motion cleaved his heart into two, and a trickle of blood dribbled past the hilt of the knife.  
  
Harry fell back against the wall, and Draco fell with him, keeping the knife embedded, making sure that his heart was well and truly destroyed. As Harry sagged to the ground, Draco followed him.  
  
Draco felt Harry's hand grip his tight, tighter, and then loosen.  
  
Fear showed in Harry's eyes, then acceptance. A grimace of pain, and he closed his eyes. He did not cry out. A single tear leaked through his closed eyelid.  
  
The eyes shot open, and a hoarse gasp that Draco could barely understand came from his mouth.  
  
"Luna. . ."  
  
The eyes closed.  
  
Harry's hand went limp.  
  
Draco put a small towel against the opening in Harry's chest, and withdrew the blade, instinctively cleaning with the towel as he pulled the knife free. He laid the knife gently on the ground, and felt for a pulse.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Draco pulled out his wand, and muttered the proper complex incantation to open Harry's shackles. He then straightened Harry's arms and legs, and pinned Harry's Order of Merlin to his robe.  
  
He didn't try to unclench Harry's fist, which still tightly gripped the locket containing Luna Potter's hair._  
  
Draco's self-torture was interrupted by a man he recognized as the Muggle communications officer running up to him and the Sergeant.  
  
"Sir! A new message from the Russians! Just like last time, two words!"  
  
Draco looked at the man.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
_"We will."_  
  
Draco smiled.  
  
This WOULD work.  
  
He walked into the bunker, and saw that the Sergeant had assembled everyone.  
  
It was almost time.  
  
In a few hours, most of his soldiers and the solitary witch under his leadership would most likely be dead.  
  
If they were lucky, it wouldn't matter.  
  
Five and a half hours later, Draco collapsed to the floor in the Department of Mysteries.  
  
He had made it.  
  
No one had walked these halls in over a year, and no one would ever walk them again.  
  
Deep underground, he could not hear the sounds of the battle that was raging above him.  
  
The nuclear strikes from the Chinese and the remaining American submarines had done their job. England was a smoldering, radioactive wasteland, but the enemy had been sufficiently distracted.  
  
London was even more of a shambles than he had remembered. The corpses of strange creatures littered the ruined streets, but the ragged remnants of the Russian Air Force had done its job well. A neat path had been laid, a trail of death and wreckage right up to the remains of the British Ministry of Magic, long deserted but heavily guarded. Draco and his force of Muggles had managed to make it to the Ministry entrance almost unmolested.  
  
The Muggle soldiers had sacrificed themselves well - indeed, several of them were still fighting, not knowing they had already bought Draco and Agnes the time they needed to breach the protective wards that still held despite the best efforts of the Rectification forces.  
  
Now, the door was open.  
  
Agnes met Draco's gaze.  
  
"Good luck, Draco. It's been an honor, young man."  
  
Draco kissed the top of Agnes' forehead.  
  
"See you around, grandmother."  
  
"Impudent pup. As if a silver-tongued devil like yourself could ever have come from my line. Now go in there and save the world."  
  
Draco checked his pack one more time. The letters were there, along with the checklist that he, Harry and Agnes had put together. He slung the pack over his shoulder.  
  
A loud crash sounded in the distance. The Muggles had fallen. In a few minutes, the Ministry would be swarming with hellish creatures.  
  
"GO. I'll seal you in."  
  
Draco nodded, and closed the door behind him as he walked into the Time Room at the Department of Mysteries. He went to work.  
  
Ten years earlier, things began to change.  
  
Ten years earlier, twenty-seven year-old Draco Malfoy stood in the bedroom of seventeen-year-old Ginny Weasley.  
  
Thankfully, he had been able to get past the Burrow's wards. Draco was relieved to discover that the talisman he was given to pass into the Burrow worked, even though it technically hadn't been created yet.  
  
He had timed it right. The Burrow was empty; no one would see him.  
  
There had been a moment of sadness when he saw the Weasley family clock.  
  
It just didn't look right without the hand with Draco's face on it.  
  
Draco stood in Ginny's bedroom and inhaled as deeply as he could.  
  
_Ginny, Ginny, I can smell you._  
  
He sat on the bed, and rubbed his hand over the neatly made blanket.  
  
_You're wasting time._  
  
This world was pure. Voldemort was present, yes, but so was love. The Burrow was intact, and he had passed normal, average people on the street in London. The bustling city had disoriented him, but he hadn't had to deal with it long.  
  
He could Apparate here without problems.  
  
This living, thriving world was a paradise.  
  
It was a shame he would have to leave it.  
  
He reached into his pack, and withdrew a thick package, tied tightly with string.  
  
Draco placed it on her bed, in the center, against the pillow, where she would be sure to see it.  
  
He took his wand, and cast the proper charms. No one but Ginny would be able to lift the package, or open it.  
  
Finally, he put a sealed envelope on top of the package.  
  
Draco took one last look around the room, reluctant to leave.  
  
He knew he had to go.  
  
He heard the excited sounds outside, as the Weasley clan arrived home from King's Cross.  
  
He could dally no longer.  
  
He was overdue for an appointment with his younger self. 


	2. Introductions

**Draco Malfoy and the Denial of Reality**  
  
Chapter Two – Introductions

Seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

He reached into his robes, withdrew a small package, and threw it across the room.

"DAMN HIM!"

Draco's father had totally ruined his plans to grab a last little bit of quality time with Ginny Weasley before the summer holiday.  Since when did Lucius feel the urge to accompany his mother to King's Cross?  Narcissa certainly did not approve of Draco's attachment to the youngest Weasley, but she and Draco has an unspoken agreement that she would tolerate her son's liaison with Ginny, and he would take due care to avoid bringing the relationship to the attention of his father.

Neither Narcissa nor Draco wished to see what the elder Malfoy's reaction would be if he found out that his son was lavishing affection on Arthur Weasley's daughter – after all, Arthur has almost succeeded in preventing Lucius from buying his way out of Azkaban in the middle of Draco's sixth year.

_Why, why, why, didn't Mother at least WARN me that he was coming?_

"She tried.   She had no way of knowing that your father had managed to pay off Magical Transportation just this morning and received his Apparition license back.  He almost walked in on her trying to send you an owl."

Draco spun around at the sound of his own voice – his own voice, but somehow deeper, rougher.  He knew, instinctively, as a burst of adrenaline shot through his heart, that he had drawn his wand faster than he ever had before.

It didn't matter.  The stranger in Draco's bedroom waved his hand – almost absently – and Draco's wand shot from his grip, until the stranger was gripping it in his left hand.

Defenseless, Draco had no recourse but the obvious.

"Who are you?  And how can you read my thoughts?"

_Lumos!_

As the stranger spoke, light flooded the room, and Draco gave a gasp as he looked at a fuller, more sunken version of his own face.

"You're a smart boy, Draco, you should be able to figure it out."

"Polyjuice.  Looks like you got the potion a bit wrong, though.  I'm much better looking than you are."

"Good guess, Draco.  But wrong.  And don't be so hard about my appearance, the last few years have been rather rough on me."

"Polyjuice and Legilmancy"

"Wrong and wronger."  The stranger smiled.

"That's not a word.  Draco's objection sounded whiny, even to his own ears.

The stranger smiled, "No, it's a very good word, kind of explains while I'm here.  Let me put this in terms you can understand, young Draco, think Hermione Granger in third year with the funny necklace.  And then think that maybe I'm not reading your thoughts, but rather remembering them."

Recognition dawned on Draco.

"Time travel?  I'm expected to believe you're from the future?  You're me?"

"Yes."  Draco the Elder didn't smile this time.

"You look like hell."

"Yes.  You'll look worse, I'm afraid."

"Aren't you afraid of, I don't know, messing up the future or something?   If the Ministry catches you. . ."

The older Draco seemed to ignore his younger self, and picked up the small package that had been thrown against the wall when the youth had come into his bedroom an eternity ago.

"She loved this, you know.  But you don't.  You'll never know.  You'll never going to know how her eyes lit up, and she had this little gift until the end.  I lost it in the final evacuation of London.   Hmm.  Just like last time I threw it, it's not damaged – but it's started, I have begun to change things.  The course is set."

Seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy's mind was splitting.  Part of him felt detached, almost curious, as if he was a surreal observer of something that didn't really concern him.  He was just interested to see what the story was.  The other part of him was terrified to the point where his hands were shaking, and he was fighting some primal urge to run, run away as fast as he could.

Somehow, however, he knew it would be a very, very bad idea to call for help.

"You can't kill me.  You'll destroy yourself.  And if they catch you playing with time. . ."

Draco's older self laughed.  The penalty for willfully altering the timeline was worse than the Dementor's  Kiss.  A Dementor sucked your soul and your memory.  Horrifying, to be sure.

Those who were caught trying to divert the timeline suffered a similar fate – except instead of having their soul and memories obliterated, they had their memories emptied into a special Penseive in the Department of Mysteries – you did not merely cease to exist; every memory of your life was plowed through with clinical detachment by a team of Unspeakables, dedicated to stripping every secret from you in an attempt to find out how much damage you did and what the effects were.  Being Kissed left you like a vegetable, only worse.  Messing with the timeline also left you like a vegetable, only worse  - but you were left naked as well, your every secret stripped out, discussed, and pondered by uncaring strangers.

It wasn't a pleasant prospect for a private person, and Draco Malfoy was very private indeed.

The older Draco laughed again.  "The Ministry is the least of my concerns.  I assure you I am here with the full approval and endorsement of the Ministry of Magic."

A burst of hope shot through Draco's heart.  "You work for the Minstry?"  Perhaps, just maybe, Draco would have a future away from his father – away from Voldemort.  And Ginny…

"In a manner of speaking.  I was an Auror, one of the best.  Now. . .well, you can call me the acting Minister of Magic."

Suspicion overtook the younger Draco again.  "You may look like hell, but even I can see you're a bit young to be Minister."

"I said acting.  Strictly speaking, there is no Ministry anymore.  I have certain authorities granted to me, under the auspices of the Russian Federation, the Americans, and what was left of the British government before it collapsed.  In my time, I have authority to, what was the wording?"

Draco pulled a piece of paper from his robe, as his younger self looked on with confusion.

_Paper?  Why not parchment?_

The older Draco scanned the paper with his eyes, until coming to a passage he recognized.

"Ah, yes, here it is - _therefore, under the terms of succession set forth, the Provisional Leader of the Resistance shall exercise all duties previously discharged by the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, and the President of the Russian Federation, and the President of the United States, and Premier of the People's Republic of China, and any other nations that have chosen to join in this compact, to the extent that such duties are practicable, under the terms of the United Nations Resolution of the twentieth of July, two thousand and six.  The Provisional Leader shall have the authority to command any and all remaining civilian and military entities, both Magical and Non-Magical, and to otherwise act as he sees fit to take whatever steps necessary to preserve humanity, and such authority shall persist for the duration of the current emergency, until such time as an orderly return to conventional rule shall become possible."_

"What does that mean?"  Draco cursed himself for sounding like a child, even as he spoke the words.

"You know what it means."

"You rule the world."

"What there is of it.  Not much, I'm afraid?"

"Voldemort won?"

"No.  We kicked his ass years ago.   He was easy compared to what came next."

"And Ginny?"

The older Draco sighed.  "I'm glad you asked that.  I needed to know.  It's been ten years, Draco, since I was you.  I never could remember exactly when my lust and infatuation turned to love – the type of love that can lead to sacrifice."

The younger Draco processed that, quickly, and came up with several possibilities.  He didn't like any of them.

"I have to die.  She's dead, and I have to do something that will get me killed to save her."

"Close.  But worse.  Dying would be too easy, Draco.  What you have to do is worse than suffering death, Draco, although you'll most likely get killed as well."

"There is nothing worse than Death, old man."

Draco was confused as his older self laughed.  "Oh!  How ironic.  Harry once told me that Voldemort – no, no, never mind, it doesn't matter.  Rest assured, Draco, there are things worse than death.   I would have died a million times over to save Ginny or my children."

Draco had been thrown, again, by the casual way the name _Harry_ had rolled off of his future counterpart's tongue – it had been spoken with the familiarity of long use, the affection of a close friend.   Surely, in the future, he couldn't be friends with Harry "Perfect" Potter, could he?

But there was something more earthshaking. . .

"I have children?"

Draco reached out and touched his younger self, who flinched away.

"Had, Draco, I'm so sorry, but I have to steal everything away from you."

"Why?"

The older Draco didn't answer.  He showed Draco a picture instead, and the younger man felt his stomach churn as he saw himself, older, smiling, happy – and looking considerably less worn than this stranger in front of him.   On his arm, batting his chest with one hand, was a stunning, older, and very pregnant Ginny Weasley.  Three children were climbing all over the happy couple.

"That's Winston.  We named him and Arthur after great leaders, strong names for strong Malfoy boys.  Winston used to. . .well, he was only five but I'm proud to tell you he could outfly Harry and Luna's _(LOONY LUNA LOVEGOOD?!?!  _the younger Draco thought madly) little boy on his toy Comet.   I like to think he would have made the house team and flown against Harry's kid at Hogwarts. . .assuming they weren't in the same house, of course.  Doesn't matter now. . .Arthur, well, we named him well, he's kind of like his grandfather.   And Emily. . .my little girl. . ."

Draco looked at his older self with horror, as the other man began to sob.  He stood back, not knowing whether to flee turn around.   The thought of comforting the other man never occurred to seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy; he was still ill equipped to deal with emotion.

"My little girl, Draco, our little girl, they tortured her. . .they killed my little girl, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

In a flash, Draco's older self had sprung to his feet and slammed his younger self against the wall.

"LOOK AT THE PICTURE, DRACO, LOOK AT GINNY!  I CAN'T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN!  YOU CAN'T LET IT HAPPEN!   YOU MUST STOP IT!"

"PUT ME DOWN, YOU LUNATIC!"

Draco released his grip on his younger self, and spun around so that he was facing away.

"I'm sorry.  Please.  Look at the picture.  That is your family that you can never have – but you may be able to protect them.  All you have to do is sacrifice your soul."

"I don't understand."

"Will you die to save Ginny?"

Draco thought about that question.   He was supremely selfish.  He had never, ever told Ginny he loved her, although he suspected he did.  He certainly didn't want anything to happen to her, but dying?

The older Draco seemed to read his thoughts.  "Now, think of a world without yourself.  Now, think of a world without her.  Which is worse?"

His answer was low.

"Yes.   I don't want to, but I love her."

"I know.  I did, and do, too.  That's why I'm here."

A strange peace overcame Draco.  The feeling of self-sacrifice was new to him, and he was confused by how it felt so – right.

"What do I have to do?"

"That's the hard part, I'm afraid.  I can't tell you too much about the future; let's just say that while I can't imagine a worse future, I can't guarantee that your sacrifice will save it, either.   All I know is what the Oracle has said, and I can tell you a bit about that."

Draco's young voice was a dull monotone, a sulky teenager faced with a task he knows he cannot get out of.

"What do I have to do to save Ginny?"

The Draco that had seen far, far too much in his time took a deep breath before replying.

"You need to leave Ginny and join Voldemort.  You must become a Death Eater."


	3. To Whom It May Concern

Chapter Three – To Whom it May Concern  
  
Ginny Weasley was quite irritated.  
  
She had been cheated out of seeing Draco at King's Cross – she hadn't understood the look of warning on his face at first, but then she had seen the silver hair of Lucius Malfoy coming through the crowd.  
  
She had a short letter that she had planned to give Draco, and now she would not be able to. Sending an owl to Malfoy Manor was out of the question.  
  
She couldn't believe that she would have to go the whole summer without talking with Draco.  
  
_The thing about having a couple of brothers like Fred and George, you start thinking that anything is possible._  
  
There just had to be a way to communicate with Draco. She couldn't go three months without any contact.  
  
She was still pondering this problem when she went into her bedroom. She was amazed to see a package and an envelope on her bed.  
  
Unfortunately, before she could investigate, her brother interrupted.  
  
"Gin, mum says – hey, what's that?"  
  
Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. It was here when I got home."  
  
"No fair. I didn't have any presents." Ron darted towards the package quickly, before his sister could stop him.  
  
"RON! It's MINE! Go away!"  
  
Ron, however, had no problem identifying the elegant script on the envelope.  
  
"Bloody hell. How did the Ferret beat you here?"  
  
"It's from Draco?"  
  
Ron's ears were already turning red. He grudgingly, slowly, was tolerating the fact that his sister was dating Draco Malfoy. But...  
  
"WHAT WAS HE DOING IN OUR HOUSE WHEN NO ONE WAS HOME?"  
  
"Ron! Don't be a prat! What about the time you snuck flowers into Hermione's bed? "That's different! Her parents invited me! I just showed up early!"  
  
"Yes, twelve hours early." Ginny was so tired of her brother's hypocrisy.  
  
Ron's voice was low, and his ears were no longer red – but Ginny could still tell he was angry.  
  
"Ginny, I can handle you dating the junior Death Eater, as you keep saying, you're your own person. But when that little prick-"  
  
"RON!"  
  
Ron repeated his last two words in a shout, overpowering Ginny's protests. "LITTLE PRICK breaks into OUR FAMILY'S house, it becomes a matter for the whole family..."  
  
"Ron, please."  
  
"You leave me no choice. DAD!"  
  
Arthur Weasley had obviously been on the staircase – he was in Ginny's room in a second. His eyes darted to the package and letter on the bed.  
  
"Ron? Ginny? What is the problem?"  
  
"Ginny seems to think that it's acceptable for her little Junior Voldemort to break into our house and leave her love letters."  
  
Arthur's warm eyes grew cold.  
  
"Ginny? Is this true? Did you have any advance knowledge of this?"  
  
Ginny didn't respond.  
  
Arthur closed his eyes. "Virginia..."  
  
Ginny looked at her father. "NO! I didn't know Draco was planning this. And I think it's romantic and sweet."  
  
Arthur took his glasses off and pinched the top of his nose.  
  
"Ginny...baby...it's just not right. We haven't even been properly introduced to the boy...and his father, the things he's done...it's just not right for him to enter our house. It's very serious indeed."  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Here we go again. Draco is not his father."  
  
Ron, unwisely, decided to make a comment.  
  
"Yeah, Draco just snuck in like a common thief. Lucius Malfoy would have blasted the door off the hinges and cast Unforgivables on everyone."  
  
Ginny reached for her wand, and Arthur realized that he was about to witness the Bat-Bogey hex being cast on his son.  
  
"ENOUGH! Ron, please, be quiet, you are not helping. Ginny, just let me talk."  
  
Ginny spun around, refusing to look at her father and her brother.  
  
"Now. We need to get this sorted out before your mother gets home. What's in the package?"  
  
Ginny didn't turn around. "I don't know. Ron came in before I could open it."  
  
Arthur tried to lift the package, and failed.  
  
"That's odd..."  
  
He withdrew his wand and cast a charm to lighten the package, but he still could not budge it.  
  
Ginny had turned around, and was watching her father with a curious look on her face.  
  
Ron just shook his head. He had withdrawn his wand, and was holding it limply at his side. It was obvious he was just waiting for the package to explode, or turn into a pack of rabid ferrets, or some other unspeakable act.  
  
"Dark Magic, I tell you."  
  
Arthur ignored his son. He reached for the envelope, and read the inscription.  
  
_To Whom It May Concern_  
  
He glanced back at the package. Unlike the envelope, the package had an addressee who was quite specific indeed.  
  
_Ginny_  
  
Arthur muttered, "I really shouldn't open this," even as he ripped open the envelope.  
  
He withdrew a blank parchment. He stared at it, confused, before words began to appear.  
  
_My Dear Arthur,  
  
The package is meant for Ginny, and no one else, for reasons you will soon understand.  
  
However, in the past ten years, I have learned much. I have watched your family, and I have learned that nothing can impact the closeness you have. I envy that, more than you can ever know.  
  
Of course, there are unfortunate side-effects of this closeness. I know that privacy at the Burrow is a rare commodity, and the odds of someone interrupting Ginny – and trying to stop her from opening my final gift to her – are just too great. Since you are reading this, I see that my fears were justified.  
  
I'm so glad it was you who opened this letter. I wrote several letters – the one to Ron was the hardest, for I know how much the Ron of this era distrusts me – but it makes it so much easier, knowing that it is you who is reading this words.  
  
Easier, for you are in the chain of command._  
  
Arthur took a deep breath, he really didn't want to know what was coming next – although he had a pretty good idea.  
  
_You've probably guessed already, Arthur. A temporal event has occurred– with the full knowledge and authority of the government.  
  
I am Draco Malfoy, I am twenty-seven years old, and with the authority invested in me by the Ministry of Magic, I hereby invoke the Doctrine of Temporal Integrity, specifically paragraph 7a, Management of Unprecedented Magical Catastrophes.  
  
Go ahead, Arthur, cast the proper spells on the parchment to determine that these words are truthful. After you're done with that, remember paragraph 7a, especially the bit of Supremacy of Future Governmental Authorities.  
  
Do you remember that? Dumbledore helped write it. It's the part that says in the absence of evidence to the contrary, the Government of the future shall be presumed to be benevolent, and that orders from that government are binding._  
  
Arthur bowed his head. "Ron, leave the room, now, and close the door."  
  
"Dad..."  
  
"Now. Please."  
  
Ron glared once at Ginny, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.  
  
"Dad..."  
  
Arthur cast a Silencing Charm on the room; no one outside the room would be able to hear anything that was said.  
  
"What's going on, Dad?" Ginny's voice was hesitant.  
  
"I may have underestimated your young man, princess."  
  
Ginny's eyes widened. She was grateful that her father had never quite objected to her relationship with Draco Malfoy – unlike her mother, who had gone on at great length about how the apple can't fall far from the tree. Arthur Weasley, other than warnings of concern, had never criticized the boy directly. This, however, was the first sign of praise any member of her family had ever expressed for a Malfoy.  
  
Her father had laid the letter on a dresser, and was casting strange spells she had never heard, shaking his head when the parchment would glow different colors.  
  
A strange voice suddenly filled the bedroom. It spoke two words.  
  
"Ministry key."  
  
Arthur looked at the parchment with sadness, and spoke to it.  
  
"Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, red William ensure."  
  
The same voice spoke again.  
  
"Accepted. Red William ensure, baker proclamation requiem."  
  
Ginny was quite baffled.  
  
"Dad..."  
  
"It's a code, to decipher and authenticate Ministry communications. At a certain level, personnel of the Ministry are given word keys – only the Ministry can encode a message with the Ministry key, and if the specified recipient provides their key, the message unlocks itself, and gives a code that identifies the message as valid."  
  
"I don't understand. Why is Draco sending messages from the Ministry?"  
  
Arthur sighed. "I'll let you know as soon as I find out."  
  
Arthur continued reading.  
  
_By now, I'm sure you've run your revelation spells. I can't tell you much. Mucking about with the timeline is a serious business, and I don't want to tell you more than I have to.  
  
Strictly speaking, I don't HAVE to tell you anything – but I owe you, and I also know that without proof of good intentions you would never let your daughter open that package._  
  
Arthur gave a weak smile at that. "Smart lad."  
  
_You must know by now that it's vital that she – and only she – open that package. The contents are for her eyes only. I won't lie to you. It is a terrible, terrible burden. I wish there was another way, but there's not. You may think this letter, complete with Ministry encoding, is overkill – but I cannot take the chance that suspicion and distrust could interfere with Ginny opening that package.  
  
I also have a personal reason for this letter. This will be my only communication with you. Horrible events have been set into motion, for the greater good of the world. The seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy that you are familiar with is going to have to take a rough and futile road. You must never trust him, from this moment onwards.  
  
Arthur, I've set events in motion that will quite likely condemn my soul to hell. I want you to know that it had to be this way, and that you were the best father-in-law I could have ever asked for.  
  
_Arthur put the paper down, and stared at the wall. Ginny tried to look at the paper, but he took it away from her, and shook his head before resuming reading.  
  
_There are choices that have to be made. Are you familiar with the Bible, Arthur? So many wizards aren't. I confess I wasn't, either, until things got so bad that I would take comfort anywhere I could find it. There is a bit in there – what profit a man if he gain the whole world, yet sacrifice his soul?  
  
Well, this is the reverse. I am sacrificing my soul, for the benefit of the world. Draco will no longer be seeing your daughter – she will never become my wife, never bear my children – your grandchildren. I have obliterated my children from existence, and condemned my younger self to a life of evil and agony – all because the alternative leads to a future that is horrible beyond my ability to describe in the time I have.  
  
My one attempt to describe it will be for Ginny.  
  
I'm so sorry, Arthur. I wish it could be different. I grew to love you as a second father – even after years of marriage to your daughter, I never told you that while you were alive although I like to think you knew it. Now, I know that life is too short, and pride and decorum be damned.  
  
I have seen the future, and I now realize that when you love someone, you need to tell them right away, for they may not be around to hear it later.  
  
You are one of the finest men I have ever known, Arthur. I was proud to be a member of your family. I wish to God there was a way for it to happen again, but it can't.  
  
Ginny will know why, and understand, once she opens the package. My commands to you are simple:  
  
1. Tell no one – with the exception of Ginny – what is in this letter.  
2. Love your family. I know you don't need me to tell you this, but it needs to be said.  
3. Should you ever find yourself in battle with Draco Malfoy, show no mercy. He won't. The die is cast; events are in motion, and cannot be taken back.  
4. The same goes for my father, Lucius Malfoy – would it surprise you to know that there was once a future where Lucius Malfoy was forced to fight alongside Harry Potter? For a few brief months, my father was on the side of the Light – you hopefully will never see a future where that becomes necessary, but I ask you to show respect for my mother – if Lucius and Draco fall, she will have no one in the world. I ask that should peace come, you look out for her interests, for she is guilty of nothing other than loving her husband and her son.  
5. Should Ginny need strength, be there for her. I am about to burden her with knowledge she cannot share with anyone save you. Despite her temper, which I know too well, she has an unfortunate habit of not speaking when she is troubled – much like Harry and I. Don't push her, but be there if she needs to talk – and makes sure she knows it.  
6. In 2002, tell Ron not to bet too heavily on the Cannons taking the cup. It's a lost cause – but then, I'm sure everyone will know that already.  
  
So, in short, love your family, let Ginny open the package, don't let your guard down around the Draco of your era, and never doubt that you are truly one of the finest men I have ever known.  
  
There is much more to say, but I find it is too painful to go on.  
  
Goodbye,  
  
Draco Malfoy._  
  
Arthur looked down at his daughter, and she was amazed – and a bit scared – to see a tear forming in his eye. He pulled her into an embrace, and kissed her gently on the forehead.  
  
"My little girl..."  
  
"Dad?"  
  
"Only you can open that package. If you need to talk about what's inside, I'm here. Just remember that, ok?"  
  
"Dad? Something really bad happened, didn't it?"  
  
Arthur pondered that. "I don't know what to call it. Just...put this letter with the package, and keep it in a safe place."  
  
"It IS from Draco, right?"  
  
Arthur nodded. "Yes, in a manner of speaking. Not quite the Draco you know. You'll understand when you read it."  
  
Arthur walked out of the room, leaving his daughter alone with a package from a future that would never be. 


	4. Explanations

Chapter Four – Explanations  
  
Ginny's bedroom was silent, save for the sound of her footsteps as she paced back and forth.  
  
She thought about how Draco had snuck somehow into her bedroom. She thought about the odd behavior of her father, and the sadness in his eyes.  
  
She tried very hard to think about anything other than the package lying on her bed.  
  
She knew that her father was deeply troubled by the letter she had read. She noticed that the Silencing Charm on her bedroom was still intact, and she suspected that her father would make sure she was not disturbed as she opened the strange package on her bed.  
  
She didn't want to open the package.  
  
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the package, before reaching out to pick it up. I had a firm weight to it, as if it was a box of books, but she still was able to lift it without trouble.  
  
Her father had not been able to budge the package so much as a millimeter.  
  
Half-remembered muggle fairy tales swirled in her mind.  
  
_Come on, Alice, let's go down the rabbit hole._  
  
She tore at the wrapping, only to find a thin-paneled wooden box. As she opened the lid, she saw a folded letter on top of several wrapped bundles.  
  
_Read me first_  
  
Ginny unfolded the letter, and her life would never be the same.  
  
_My darling Ginny,  
  
I love you.  
  
I love you.  
  
I love you.  
  
Above all else, you must know that, and remember that._  
  
Ginny felt a shock through her heart. She had allowed herself to be charmed by Draco Malfoy six months earlier, but never thought she would fall in love with him. Their relationship had matured quickly, and she liked to think that Draco was changing for the better – but she kept telling herself not to expect too much.  
  
She had known she was falling in love with him, but she had not even dared hope that Draco could love her back. He was so badly damaged from a lifetime of hiding his emotions. She felt a warm wave of relief through her; whatever else the letter said, it couldn't be too bad.  
  
_I have loved you since I was seventeen, and anything decent I have done in my life is a result of you taking a chance on me._  
  
Ginny frowned. Draco WAS seventeen, it hadn't been THAT long!  
  
_There's no easy way to say this, Ginny. I am not the Draco you go to Hogwarts with. I am twenty-seven years old, worn and tired. I've quite literally moved heaven and earth to get this package to you, across time.  
  
I hope you believe me. You must. If you don't, all is lost.  
  
I am lost.  
  
I've prepared various enchantments to help prove what I say is true; if necessary, go get your father and give him the envelope that came with this package. Alternately, Hermione Granger is capable of casting the necessary spells, as is your brother Bill.  
  
_Ginny felt a sense of unreality wash over her. Magic was one thing, but communicating with the past? She knew dimly that it was possible, but it was never something she had thought about.  
  
_I know this is difficult to bear. For now, you cannot tell anyone of what I am about to reveal, but if you need to talk about how I did this, you may want to consult Hermione in an abstract fashion. Coach your questions in terms of an assignment; else her relentless curiosity will cause her to extract the truth from you – and we really can't have that, not yet.  
  
Hermione is very well versed indeed on the subject of mucking about with time travel.  
  
Anyhow, where was I? Oh yes.  
  
I love you.  
  
It feels a bit odd, knowing that you're most likely sitting in your bedroom, a seventeen-year-old girl. I'm really much too old for you now.  
  
That was a joke.  
  
I have a story to tell you, and a sacrifice to make. Short version, you changed my life in ways I cannot even describe, and gave my life meaning. You taught me to love, and believe me, that was NOT easy.  
  
You even got me to become friends with Harry Potter, and believe me, that was pretty amazing.  
  
The world – the time – I am writing from is an unspeakably horrible, evil place. Oblivion would be more merciful than living in this hell.  
  
I've taken steps to change that. I don't know if they will work. I do know one thing.  
  
In order to prevent this future from coming to pass, I must sacrifice my life with you. I must repudiate everything good I ever did in my life.  
  
I am Draco Malfoy, and once upon a time, I was proud to call myself your husband. I have always been proud – sometimes too proud – but I have never been prouder than when I would walk into a room with you on my arm, and the world would see that I had somehow been graced with the most beautiful, strong, loving woman in the world.  
  
Now, that will never happen. But I'm still selfish, Ginny. I don't want to be remembered for the things that the Draco Malfoy of your time is going to have to do. Even if you are the only one, I am selfish enough to want one person to know the truth.  
  
I curse my selfishness. I rationalize it away by telling myself it is necessary, that I cannot trust anyone else with this burden, that you are my fall-back plan to prevent the world from falling into darkness.  
  
Right now, as you read this for the first time, it is the crucial point. The timeline must diverge now; it cannot diverge later.  
  
I can only go back once, and I have no one else. In your time, I'm not close enough to Harry or Ron yet for them to believe such a letter.  
  
These things are all true. But the deeper truth is that I was never quite worthy of you, and I feel that I am proving it all over again by tell you what is to come.  
  
I could try to spare you – but I won't, because I need just one person to know what I was.  
  
I'm so sorry, Ginny.  
  
_Ginny's head was a mass of conflicting emotion – but for some reason, she didn't doubt the truthfulness of what she was reading. She was shocked and hurt; here, in black and white, Draco was proclaiming that they would never be together.  
  
She tried not to dwell on what he was saying about the world at large.  
  
She loved Draco. She also knew how possessive he was, and took a bit of pride in that herself – she loved how Draco made it clear that she was with him, and he with her.  
  
She also knew how Draco hated to give up what he wanted.  
  
What could be so terrible that he could reject her, even as he stated that he loved her?  
  
Ten years in the future...did they have children?  
  
The unopened smaller packages in the box beckoned her. Some of them appeared to be framed pictures, wrapped in papers.  
  
If she were to tear the paper away, what would she see?  
  
It took a strong act of will not to pick up one of the small wrapped packages and go back to the letter.  
  
_I suppose I should start at the beginning.  
  
I don't need to go into how we came together; it's still fresh in my mind, over ten years after the fact, so I hope you remember it as clearly.  
  
You won, Weasley. As I recall, I attempted to mend fences with Potter three times before the stubborn idiot responded to my overtures.  
  
I only did it to make you happy. Lord, how I despised him.  
  
Count that down as another one of your gifts to me. In your time, Potter and I had finally progressed to being civil to each other. By now, he is my closest friend – or was, before he died.  
  
_Ginny gasped. Harry, dead? She thought wildly to herself,_ it hasn't happened yet maybe Draco will tell me how to stop it._  
  
Ice gripping her heart, she continued to read.  
  
_After leaving Hogwarts, a choice had to be made. I could either become a Death Eater, or join Dumbledore. For a Malfoy, there would be no neutrality.  
  
The fact that my father was wondering when I would get around to taking the Dark Mark was also foremost in my mind.  
  
Well, I avoided that. Much to my amazement, Dumbledore and the Order were able to protect me long enough for me to enter Auror training.  
  
Becoming an Auror with Harry and Ron was an honor – but it was nothing compared to the joy I felt when you became Virginia Malfoy.  
  
We Aurors fought Voldemort together, and sundry other unsavory types, but you did research – you were not active in the physical aspects of the fight.  
  
It would have been too difficult – that Weasley fertility. You gave me three wonderful children, very quickly._  
  
Ginny had always wondered, would she go out and do crazy things, or become a younger version of her mother, staying at home, raising children? Now, she had her answer.  
  
_Seven years after we left Hogwarts, Harry beat Voldemort for good, with a little help from his friends – including, of course, your dashing husband, who looked very well poised for a pleasant career in politics.  
  
We didn't realize what the backlash to Voldemort's hatred would cause.  
  
Somewhere, a very brilliant, very disturbed man was thinking that there was only one way to prevent Voldemort's racist claptrap from rising again – this nutcase would act on his own special version of racist claptrap.  
  
This crazy, brilliant Muggleborn – we never found his identity – decided that the smartest thing to do would be to kill every Pureblood that he could.  
  
It was ludicrous. He managed to attract some followers – not many, but a few. We later found that he was using some warped version of Imperious that made the target very susceptible to suggestion. Unlike Imperious, it did not totally control a person's action, but merely reinforced a suggestion that a person should behave a certain way.  
  
Or, in the case of the Rectification, follow a certain cause.  
  
He struck on the first anniversary of Voldemort's death. Twelve wizards and witches killed seventeen purebloods in the grand name of his "Rectification." He struck at the combination memorial service and celebration for the end of the Voldemort war.  
  
The next day, his Manifesto of the Rectification was owled to the Daily Prophet. It was, of course, quite insane. It called for "rectifying" the state of magical society by getting rid of the purebloods and by somehow giving magic to the Muggles.  
  
We didn't realize that his "pureblood elimination campaign" was the lessor of the evils he was planning. He was determined to give magic to the Muggles – whether they wanted it or not.  
  
While the Aurors were running all over England and Scotland trying to find the leader of the Rectification, he was busy on another continent. Africa, to be specific.  
  
The second phase of his plan made the mere slaughter of a few purebloods look like afternoon tea.  
  
Remember I said he was brilliant? He was. We don't know much about him – we know he fought in some capacity against Voldemort, and that he wasn't a member of the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
We knew he was Muggleborn.  
  
We knew he had Spellsearcher abilities that were unparalled. You know that Spellsearching is difficult – not every witch or wizard has the gift to create new spells – well, our enemy was one of the best Spellsearchers that ever walked the earth. We learned that the hard way.  
  
He wasn't kidding about wanting to give magic to the Muggles. It didn't work out quite as well as he wanted, though.  
  
As we Aurors were hunting down what we thought was another garden-variety wizard murderer – albeit one with an original cause – our foe was experimenting.  
  
Whoever the leader of the Rectification was, he was quite thorough. He came up with a way to give Muggles basic magical ability, and he gave them the means to spread that ability amongst themselves. He gave them the compulsion to spread it as well, using his ability to instill compulsions in people – remember the "warped version of Imperious" I told you about?  
  
He was too smart for his own good. He struck first in an obscure African village, a place with no wizards, no electricity, no communication with the outside world.  
  
He took human beings and turned them into something else.  
  
No one will ever know how many experiments he performed to get to the skill level he acquired. All we know is that he somehow combined radically different magical disciplines to create a monster that could not be stopped.  
  
He infected, for lack of a better word, a Muggle with his curse – and then he gave them the ability to transfer the curse via a bite, much like a vampire or a werewolf. The afflicted Muggle had magical sensitivity, and the raw ability to do magic – but no real training.  
  
He already knew how to link multiple minds together in such a way to compel certain behaviors. The next step must have seemed obvious to him.  
  
If he could touch minds and influence them, perhaps he could implant thoughts – perhaps he could control minds. Thus, the Hive-Mind was born. The magical ability of the infected Muggles was powerful and unfocused – so he focused on improving the ability that would most aid the spread of his curse.  
  
Specifically, Apparition and Memory Charms.  
  
Imagine, Ginny. Muggles, who when bitten in the night, are immediately Obliviated – until the curse matures, and their mind merges with the Hive- Mind.  
  
The afflicted Muggles lost their power of independent thought – all they knew, all their raw brain power, was distributed in a telepathic network – many bodies, but one mind, all under the control of the Leader of the Rectification.  
  
The result was a creature, a drone, in human form, who could Apparate anywhere, spread the curse, and them Obliviate the victim so that the next victim didn't even know they were infected – until they started displaying symptoms.  
  
It was a staggeringly efficient way of spreading the curse – or infection – or whatever you want to call it.  
  
Of course, all these minds joined as one couldn't be controlled for long. They absorbed the mind of the leader as well – his goal of giving Muggles magic was long forgotten, and was ultimately irrelevant to the Hive-Mind.  
  
The Hive-Mind had desires of its own.  
  
It slowly consumed isolated villages in Africa, building up its army, increasing its brainpower and numbers.  
  
We only know this because one of the followers of the Rectification was there when the movement's leader was consumed – this person then tried to warn the Ministry.  
  
A study group was formed. A fucking study group. By then, it was already too late.  
  
As the study group attempted to determine if the story was even possible, the Hive-Mind began to mutate – it took over its first true city, Bombay, India.  
  
There was a high education level in Bombay – the resulting explosion of new intelligence gave the Hive-Mind more power than ever before.  
  
Do you see, Ginny? Can you imagine everyone you know having all of their life experiences, all of their memories, all of their knowledge, combined into one malevolent mind bent on domination?  
  
_Ginny tried to imagine it – it must have been like the Dementor's Kiss, only worse, for the afflicted. She wondered if the afflicted could feel their minds slipping away. She should have known that Draco would have an answer.  
  
_The Hive-Mind was brilliant, but not infallible. It had two weaknesses.  
  
The process of assimilating a new mind was slow – it would could take anywhere from two weeks to three months to occur. For about a week prior to the mind being assimilated, the afflicted person would be disoriented and confused.  
  
If your friend suddenly started babbling nonsense sometimes and making sudden outbursts, odds are that they were getting ready to have you for dinner within a week or so – and after biting you, they would Obliviate you, so that you didn't even know you were afflicted.  
  
All the better to give the curse time to mature. But, the period of disorientation also gave us a chance to identify the infected and kill them.  
  
The other weakness, which we discovered later, was that by killing a large number of fully assimilated people, you could disrupt the Hive-Mind – kind of like getting it drunk. It would also lose the benefit of the knowledge that it had gained from those minds.  
  
Later on, the Hive-Mind learned to distribute its memories, to make "backups", so that bits of useful information were spread over the worldwide network of the assimilated. The Hive-Mind was nothing if not adaptable.  
  
The Hive-Mind was sneaky, at first. It targeted communication centers – television stations, radio stations, newspapers – in Bombay, so that it could keep a lid on reports of people acting "odd."  
  
Once the entire population of Bombay was one with the Hive-Mind, it was truly ready to strike.  
  
_Ginny tried to remember. How many people lived in Bombay? A million? Ten million? She didn't know, but she knew it was a lot.  
  
She had to stop. She couldn't read any more, not right then. She carefully put the letter back in the box, and closed the lid, before going downstairs to her father's library.  
  
She had something she wanted to look up in her father's _Encyclopedia of Muggle Culture._  
  
More importantly, she just needed a break from reading about the end of the world. 


	5. A Pleasant Day in the Alley

Chapter Five – A Pleasant Day in the Alley

Twenty-seven year old Draco Malfoy sat at a café in Diagon Alley, watching people stroll by.

He loved it.

It took a while to get used to it.  At first, he had been consumed by an overpowering urge to flee.  So many people – when he had arrived in this time, he had been shocked by the sheer number of people around, but he was focused on his goal.

Now, Draco had nothing to do but wait for the end.  Hermione's words came back to him.

I'm sorry, Draco, according to my calculations you'll only have about three days before you literally dissolve.  This is really only a last resort plan.

Draco was damned if he was going to cease to exist without sampling the delights of a forgotten world.

The first – and to Draco, most exciting – task had been simple.  He did something he'd wanted to do for over a year.

His younger self was quite upset when Draco calmly announced he was commandeering his bathroom and taking a very long shower, complete with magical bubbles and hot AND cold water.

As Draco had not had a proper bath for at least a year, he felt it was rather rude – and showed poor judgment, as well – for his younger self to protest.   Draco certainly didn't want to smell himself any longer than he had to, and if his younger self needed to "adjust" to his new reality, well then, that was just his own damned problem.

Talk, talk, talk.   Draco didn't remember being so needy in his youth.

Of course, he didn't have any memories of an older-self dropping in and telling him that the fate of the world rested on his shoulders, and, oh, yes, you need to turn your back on the woman you love and join a Mudblood Madman in a doomed, half-baked scheme to try to conquer all wizard-kind.

Draco snorted, blowing a bit of firewhiskey through his nose.  Mudblood.  It had been a long time since he had thought of that word.

He looked around, scanning the people around him, wondering who was going to jump out at him and bite him.

Wondering who was infected.

He knew, instinctively, that there was no threat here.  The only threat in this time was the Death Eaters, and he knew that they wouldn't strike in Diagon Alley, at least not until next October.

Old habits died hard.

One person standing about ten meters away looked different.  Draco's mind quickly categorized the threat.

Black, earring, bald.

_Shacklebolt._

_Auror._

_Shit._

Draco locked eyes with the Auror, and gestured for him to sit.

Watching Kingsley Shacklebolt mentally curse himself for being detected brought a smile to Draco's face.  He could see Shacklebolt wrestling with a decision in his mind before brushing his ear and shrugging.

Giving your partner a signal to watch, eh, Kings?  Who is your partner?  I don't recognize anyone.  Someone who was killed or left before my time?  Or could it be Tonks, disguised as someone else?

Shacklebolt walked to the table and sat down, fixing Draco with a stare that used to sometimes make criminals confess before Kingsley could even open his mouth.

"Hi, Kings.  Wondering what I've done to drawn you here.  Don't worry, I'll keep my hands out of my robes."

Shacklebolt arched an eyebrow at the use of his nickname, and replied in a reasonable tone.

"I appreciate that, my friend, and was hoping that you could tell me who you are."

Draco pondered this a moment.

"Can't do that quite yet, Kings.   Tell me where I bollixed it up and then we'll talk."

Kingsley shrugged.  He had the strange wizard dead to rights, and he was in an easygoing mood today.

"Counterfeiting is a very serious crime my friend, very serious indeed."  He tossed a Galleon on the table between Draco and himself.

Draco picked it up and looked at it, turning it over until his eyes fixed on the date.

Oops.  2004.  Should've thought of that.

Kingsley continued.

"An excellent job – I can't quite figure out how you managed to fool all the verification spells – it tests as genuine, and passes cashbox protection charms without a peep, but the barman has quite a sharp eye and thought we'd be interested in you.  Seems like a rather foolish mistake, making a perfect forgery and getting the date off."

"I can explain."  Draco's tone was bored, careless.  Doesn't really matter, does it?

"I'd love to hear it."

"It's not a forgery."

Kingsley stiffened.  "You better have a very good explanation indeed then, my friend."

Draco slowly raised his hand.

"May I?"

Shacklebolt's wand pointed right at Draco's throat.  Draco was conscious of the café getting very quiet indeed.

"Slowly.  Very slowly."

Draco withdrew a leather case from his robes, and presented his Auror identification to Shacklebolt.

"My credentials.  I trust you'll find them in order."

Shacklebolt's eyes darted to at least three different people before looking down at what he held.

Kings either has more than one partner, or he looked at multiple people just to throw me off.  He's going to be right pissed when he verifies my ID.

Sure enough, Shacklebolt's eyes widened, darted to Draco, and flashed with disgust before throwing Draco's identification back at him.

Draco smiled as he caught his card with one quick movement.

Shacklebolt's voice was low, resigned.

"You're going to have to bloody oblivate me, aren't you?  I hate people mucking with my memory."

Draco gave Shacklebolt a serious stare, before breaking and smiling.

"Not much.  Let's not talk about much and all I'll have to do is wipe who I am."

Shacklebolt smiled back.   "Fair enough.  I may have nightmares about a Malfoy being one of my Aurors, though, if you don't do a good job with my memory."

"I will do a good job.  You taught me, after all."

"Christ.   What was I thinking?"

"All for King, Country and the Service, Kings?"

"I should have become a Potions Master.  Mum always wanted me to."

Draco's mind flashed back to hiding out with an older Shacklebolt, underground, brewing potions for the Resistance even as the Infected roamed overhead.

"You may still, Kings, after you retire.  You have the gift.  Let me buy you a drink, and then we will drink to things that haven't happened yet, and to the Aurors you have yet to train, and those whom you will not get to train because their destinies are being stolen from them."

Shacklebolt pondered that.

"One way trip, eh, Draco?"

Draco didn't smile this time.

"Yes.  And in your timeline, I'm going to wind up on the wrong side.  Let's not discuss it anymore, it bothers me and I don't want to mess with your head any more than I already have to."

Shacklebolt raised his glass, which had magically appeared in front of him when Draco had said he was going to buy a drink for the Auror.

"To the future, then."

Draco clinked his bottle to Shacklebolt's glass.

"To the future."

Draco downed his firewhiskey, as Shacklebolt slammed his glass down.

"You want me to take care of the barman and the coin before you take care of me?"  Shacklebolt tried to sound upbeat.

"I think that would be best.  Just make him forget about the date and think the coin was fraudulent.   Does your partner have any idea who I am?"

"No, and there's two of them."

"Excellent.  This should be pretty simple."

An hour later, Draco was walking down Diagon Alley in a slight state of confusion.

Kingsley had modified the memory of the barman, and then Draco had removed his identity from Shacklebolt's mind.  Kingsley had then explained to his partners that it had been a misunderstanding of a secret matter, and that he would file the report, under seal, in such a way that it would not be read for at least a decade.

Draco was troubled.  He knew that he should have begun experiencing the symptoms of temporal disruption.  He should have been experiencing cramps, as his organs started to malfunction before his inevitable death by systemic organ failure, followed by the eventual literal disintegration of his corpse.

He withdrew a piece of parchment from his robes, and went over Hermione's calculations again.  And again.

A passing witch, who had been giving him an admiring look, was startled when he suddenly said very loudly, "Hermione, you careless witch, where the HELL was your mind?"

Later that day, he visited the Crystal Chalice – the wizarding restaurant where he had first proposed to Ginny.  He ate alone, sampling almost every item on the menu.  A plate would be brought to him, and he would take a bite or two, before demanding something else be brought.

The waiter was quite troubled.

"Is the food satisfactory?  Is something wrong?"

Draco laughed.

"Everything is just perfect.  I want to sample everything, everything you have.  Cost is not an object.  Just keep it coming.  It has been so long since I've had a proper dinner.

Draco was in a state of delirium, but his splendid mind had already prepared for what had to be done.

He ended his day in Diagon Alley by making a purchase at the Magical Menagerie.  A quick Apparation to a Muggle farm, and later that evening Draco went to Hogsmeade.

A short walk later, and he was standing before the gates of Hogwarts.

Later that night, Albus Dumbledore ascended the steps to his office.  It took a lot to surprise to old wizard – but finding a twenty-seven year old Draco Malfoy in his office qualified as quite a surprise indeed.

The presence of Draco at Hogwarts was not quite as surprising as Draco's words.

"Hello, Albus.  I was wondering, could I trouble you by borrowing Harry Potter for a brief time?"


	6. Preludes

Chapter Six – Preludes

Ginny rinsed her mouth out with water, and thought about what she had read.

_Bombay has eighteen million Muggles. And that's just the beginning._

_They are going to kill my children._

_The fate of the world rests on Draco's shoulders._

She leaned over the toilet and vomited again, not caring that the sound of her retching carried past the door.

Outside the door, Ron silently fumed, listening to his sister purge herself, thinking, "_if that damned Malfoy has knocked her up I am going to make him suffer before I kill him."_

_Ten Years Later_

As the walls of the Ministry of Magic began to shimmer and sparkle, Agnes Nelson smiled.

_Draco never suspected._

She reached out her arm and opened the door leading to the Department of Mysteries. She felt a pang of guilt as she realized she was leaving the Muggle soldiers behind, but they had done their duty and the world was already beginning to fade around her. This world no longer existed; it would merely take a few minutes for the temporal bubble to reflect the fact the time line had altered and this had never happened and would never happen.

Dimly, right before the door slammed shut behind her, she could hear the agonized screams of defeat as the creatures of the Rectification realized what had happened.

_All that brainpower and you didn't see THIS coming, you bloody bastards, did you?_

She knew that Draco had already won. She knew, objectively, that he was ten years dead. Still, she figured the world owed Draco Malfoy a debt, and she was determined to collect on his behalf.

Ever since her sorting into Hufflepuff, over a hundred and fifty years ago, very few had taken Agnes Nelson seriously. Draco had, but he never quite grasped the depths of her intelligence, focusing instead on the power – admittedly rather lacking – of her wand. She was, after all, the last witch left in England.

There had been, however, an organization in England that had once taken Agnes very seriously indeed, both for her intelligence and her sense of discretion.

Draco never suspected that Agnes Nelson, in her day, had been smart enough to give Hermione Weasley a run for her money. Indeed, had Hermione lived long enough to meet Agnes, together they may have found a magical means to stop the Rectification without altering the timeline.

Not that it mattered – messing with the timeline had been one of Agnes Nelson's specialties, once upon a time. Over a century ago, a young and loyal Agnes Lovegood (ah, but she had been so proud to take Henry Nelson's name when he finally proposed, back when the world was young) had worked in the Department of Mysteries.

Draco had never realized that the time-slip theories Hermione had worked on up until her death were based on a still-classified thesis paper by Agnes Lovegood.

Yes, Agnes knew a trick or two herself about messing with the timeline. There was no one to watch as she stood before the ball of white light in the center of the Time room. The Gateway was already beginning to develop yellow patches on its flaming surface.

There was no one to watch as she threw a small glass ball into the sphere, no one to watch as she closed her eyes and walked into the light even as the world winked out of existence around her.

There were, however, many frightened eyes that witnessed when she reappeared some-when else, a look of triumph on her face as she walked out of the pulsating, flaming mass that was the dying but still powerful Gateway.

_I hope Draco understands why I have to do this._

_Ten Years Earlier_

"Hershey's Kiss!"

The gargoyle began to spin as Harry Potter shouted the password and ran up the stairs to Dumbledore's office.

_Why does the Headmaster want me at two in the morning?_

He was out of breath, panting, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts merely smiled at seventeen-year-old Harry Potter as if it was perfectly normal to send a glowing phoenix to awaken a student several hours shy of sunrise.

Harry was still too shocked to be angry at the Dumbledore. That, however, changed when he saw the man standing against the far wall with his arms crossed, smirking at him.

Dumbledore spoke before Harry could. "Ah, Harry, so good of you to come. I believe you are already acquainted with Mr. Draco Malfoy, although not with this older version of him, perhaps, am I right?"

Dumbledore smiled. Draco smiled.

Harry did not smile.

"Oh, bugger."

Draco smile became even wider.

"Language, Potter."

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Dumbledore chastised Harry gently.

"Now, Harry, I've spoken at length to Mr. Malfoy here, and I trust him. He has something very important to say."

"Yes sir. Of course, you also trust Snape."

"PROFESSOR Snape, Harry" intoned both Dumbledore and Draco simultaneously.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed.

"Bugger."

Draco laughed. "Really, Potter, not now, I'm not your type."

"Thank God for that. Why am I here, Malfoy?"

Draco reached into a sack and removed a small green animal.

"Why, Potter, I want you to meet my frog."


	7. Contrasts

Chapter 7 – Contrasts

Ginny looked at the stack of letters, not knowing if she should read them straight through or wait. She thought, briefly, about firecalling Harry – not to tell him about her little present from the future, but just because she wanted to hear a friendly voice - but then she remembered that Harry was staying at Hogwarts for a month past the end of term and wouldn't be home.

She thought about calling Hermione, but worried that the other girl would sense something was wrong and try to pry it out of her.

Left alone with the letters, she decided she might as well read one of them.

_Ginny,_

_Some of these letters will be long, some will be short. We've planned this little time vacation for a long time, and we're constantly on the move, so I write when I can._

_I never thought of myself as much of a writer, but when you realize these bits of parchment and paper are going to be my only testimony to my existence, I find I have trouble putting the pen down._

_I left some letters – short ones – to some of our friends, but they will not receive them for another ten years or so. I aim to do just enough damage to fix the timeline, no more._

_Of course, this whole plan is contingent that the Oracle is correct. Who is the Oracle, you say? No less than the Oracle of Delphi. Yes! In the twentieth century, there's still a Delphi Oracle. Seems they've been hidden for a few thousand years, but when everything started going to hell and the wall between the magical and muggle worlds was so much bath tissue, we learned a lot of things._

_Normally I wouldn't have cared that there was still a Delphi Oracle, especially as how that exalted personage was actually a gum-chewing, tongue-pierced seventeen-year-old girl, but when her bona fides were vouched for by an unquestionable authority, Harry and I felt we should listen to her._

_Part of me wishes we hadn't. It's not easy to learn that the world once stood at a fork in the road, and that one possible timeline had me choosing to fight Voldemort but then losing the world to the Rectification, and the other timeline had me joining Voldemort, but the Rectification never arose._

_Lovely choice, let me tell you. "Do the right thing and the world perishes, Draco."_

_At this moment, I'm crying for my younger self. As much of a prat I was, I still believe I wasn't evil at seventeen. You redeemed me, saved me from myself, but I look back at the selfish prick I was and I must say, at least I wasn't truly evil, yet, although I am sure I would have eventually gone down that path without your intervention._

_  
No matter now. It's off to a world of murder, pillage, lies and rape with Tom Riddle and his Merry Death Eaters._

_I don't think I can rape someone._

_Damn, damn, damn...I shouldn't be laying this on you. But Harry and I learned much, way too much, about how Death Eater politics work, and I am still mourning for my soon-to-be lost innocence._

_Bollocks. Enough of this maudlin rubbish. Let me tell you about the time I got you drunk on firewhisky in your sixth year and talked you into helping me break into the Gryffindor boys' dormatories._

_Do you know what Nair is? It's a muggle hair removal product. We found that it is also surprisingly resistant to all magical hair-regrowth potions._

_Well, that's what Snape said, at least, when a furious McGonagal demanded he find a way to restore the missing foliage from the heads of the 3rd, 5th and 7th Griffindor boys. That taught them to use their wands to clean their hair like proper wizards, rather than listening to Dean Thomas who had them all using conditioner because "it makes your hair smell better."_

_A little bit of Nair instead of conditioner in the bottle and there's no hair to smell like anything at all. Let me tell you, that scar on Harry's head stands out ten time more when that black mop is gone._

Ginny laughed, despite herself, as she read about a joke that never would be. She thought about Draco, _her _Draco, who would never be able to pull off the prank that future-Draco had just described.

Ginny's Draco, that scared sixteen-year-old boy, sat contemplating his misfortune. He finally realized that if he was to be a Death Eater, he might as well be good at it.

He didn't quite know where to begin. Despite his boasting, most of the time he had worked very hard to stay away from Lord Voldemort. Now, however, he would have to come up with a plan that would raise his status in the eyes of the Dark Lord.

Something one of his classmates had said reminded him of something...a Vanishing Cabinet. Draco was not stupid; he understood the laws of magic better than most, actually. Nothing really vanished in the Wizarding World, it merely...went elsewhere.

That was knowledge he could use. In fact, that cabinet reminded him of something.

Draco was so entranced with running his idea through his mind that for ten minutes he didn't think of Ginny, his future self, or even Lord Voldemort. He had an idea, an original one, and he had to figure out if he was up to executing it.

_Back at Hogwarts Castle_

"This is wrong. Insane and wrong. Couldn't you find something else to do this?"

Dumbledore beamed at Harry. "Ah, Harry, as is the case in so many things, this is a task that only you could undertake."

"Yes, Professor, I understand that, but still. Why? And why for _him?_" The last word was hissed, and obviously directed at the older version of Draco Malfoy who was now lying on a bed in front of Harry.

Dumbledore's voice was soft. "Do you really, really doubt him, Harry? Do you really think the petulant youth you know as Draco Malfoy could grow into a man willing to take such a staggering risk without having gone through some fundamental life changes?"

Harry didn't answer, but thought for a moment. "You're going to erase my memory of this, aren't you, Professor?"

"Not quite, my dear boy. Merely suppress it for a very long time. I think Draco trusts you to be his backup plan."

"Great." Potter sighed, and then turned to walk back to Gryffindor Tower, followed by the elderly Headmaster.


End file.
